football imagines {premier league}

Trent Alexander-Arnold

Part Two: attention.
- follow on from happy birthday.

It's July, the peak of summer, and the weather outside is humid and surprisingly warm for London. Trent and his friends are celebrating for one last time before the new season begins, as a final hurrah and opportunity to go out and not worry about the consequences before the return of strict dietary regimes, a cycle of unending training sessions and weekends busy driving up and down the country. The club is hot and sweaty, with the thumping bass and sporadic bursts of bright light not helping the humidity in the slightest.

You're wearing that dress again.

You're swaying side to side, head tilted back ever so slightly, hair tumbling down her back in messy, loose waves and hips moving to the beat. The flashing lights of the club are reflecting off the silver of your earrings and your dress is gripping her curves, taunting him, teasing him, as you sucks on your straw. It's an innocent action but Trent's mind can't help but wander elsewhere.

He wasn't expecting you to come tonight.

- It's probably a good thing, too, a blessing in disguise that he was unaware, because otherwise he probably would have convinced himself that turning up at all was a bad idea full stop, and that staying at home, wallowing in Money Heist, would be much more appealing.

Trent clenches his fists and leans back on the sofa behind him. His friends are surrounding him and laughing and knocking back shots, slapping his shoulder and his knee and whenever a particularly good song comes on, jumping to their feet. All he can do, on the other hand, is watch you.

It feels creepy, and he knows that deep down he shouldn't be staring at you  so intently, but coming out and wearing a dress like that and dancing like that so nearby meant that anything else would have been virtually impossible.

You had to know what you're doing.

- You must know.

And it must be on purpose.

Trent can't help but muse that it's all probably a massive cry for attention- and not just anyone in the club's attention, because if this were the case he wouldn't care and he'd be happy for you to go home with anyone you please- but his attention.

- You was doing a pretty damn good job at capturing it, if that were the case.

You flip your hair over your shoulder and give him a look, dipping your head forwards slightly. You're standing metres away from one other, and the space of the dance floor between you both is littered with people, but you've always had this funny habit of being the only person he could focus on in a crowded room. When you make eye contact again, you press your lips together in a smile.

- Or rather, an attempt at a smile. It was more a mixture of a glare and a frown, and your eyes are burning into him to such an extent that he when he stands up to greet you, he nearly trips over his own feet. Your eyes are gleaming under the lights, shrouded in smoky eye makeup and narrowing slightly, captivatingly, as you send a coy smile his way.

"I didn't think you were coming tonight."

They were familiar words, reminiscent of his birthday party and the last time you had both spoke, and he's ready to burst out laughing at the coincidence when Little Mix start to play in the background again.

"This is becoming quite the occurrence, isn't it?"

Trent nods and exhales. "Yeah, I guess."

"It's been a while."

"How have you been?"

"Fine." You shrug, dismissively and calmly. "Are you here with Hannah?"